DAYS 79-93

Well, it's been another two weeks since I took pen to paper, and I have to admit...I'm embarrassed about it. The last time I checked in, I was convinced my wallowing was over, and I'd signed up for Class Pass and felt ready to tackle my goals.

Except, my brain and body didn't agree on that. After signing up for my first class, I was nervous but excited. I was going to try out a pilates class - something I had wanted to try for YEARS. Now was my time! But when it came time to actually go to the class, anxiety took over. I was short of breath with sharp chest pains, and an overwhelming sense of nausea set in. I tried to breathe through the panic. I used all my best tricks - counting down from 100, my slow belly breathing, and (my personal favorite) telling Rory what's happening. Nothing seemed to work. Even when I was able to catch my breath, the nausea intensified. I didn't know what to do. Thinking I wasn't up for pilates in the near future, I canceled my class and the panic IMMEDIATELY subsided. 

I spent the rest of the night sulking.

The next day, I had planned to go to a Spinning class with my friend who is obsessed with the studio I'd booked. She was jazzed, and I was too! Spin sounded like a ball. I already loved the stationary bike. But add a room with some motivational leaders and some fun music, it sounded right up my alley. Of course, an hour before the class, though, my dreaded panic set in again. Determined not to let my friend down, I made it to the studio. I asked the teacher to help me set up my bike (because apparently that's a huge ordeal), I put on my spin shoes and I was ready to go!

What I realized over the course of that class, though, is that I was NOT ready to go. Oh my god, was I out of my league or what. What I hadn't realized about spin is that there's not much sitting on your stationary bike, and my body just wasn't strong enough to hold myself up like that yet. My knees ached from standing, and when I took a few minutes to sit, the seat immediately dug into my butt (pretty sure I'm still bruised down there). There were times when the class felt so long that I didn't know if I was going to make it through. All the joints and muscles in my body revolted, despite everyone around me looking like they were having the time of their life. By the end of the hour, my body was drenched in sweat - literally every surface of my body was sweating (including the backs of my hands which I legitimately didn't know COULD sweat). And I felt defeated. I had been working out for nearly three months, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. I was still REALLY out of shape.

I will say that in the hour following spin, my endorphins reached such an all time high that I thought the whole thing might be like giving childbirth, that I'd magically forget the torture of the class and only remember the resulting high. But...alas, I don't have spin amnesia, and I don't think I'll be ready to take another stab at it any time soon.

In fact, since the disaster of the spin class, I've been too intimidated and upset to try another class. And that really bums me out. I feel a little defeated, to be honest. Every time I try and make myself work out, I make a slew of excuses about what I could be doing instead. Which has resulted in a solid week and a half of me rewatching all of Gilmore Girls on Netflix and not much else. 

Ultimately, I'm giving myself a break. That doesn't mean I'm going to continue being a lump on my couch for whatever show comes after my Gilmore Girls rewatch, but it does mean I'm not going to shame myself for doing what I need to do. The next few weeks are going to be a time of immense change for me. I'm going to be leaving my first solo grownup apartment and move back into a roommate situation. I'm going to leave behind West Hollywood, which has been my neighborhood for the past six years. I'm going to sell or get rid of a lot of my stuff that I've accumulated and start fresh. And I'm going to hopefully find a part time job I can stay with for the foreseeable future to supplement my writers' assistant income and be able to not stress about paying my bills. I mean, that's a LOT of stuff to do. For anyone, much less someone who's going through their first real breakup. 

But, holding myself accountable and recognizing my feelings is the first step to getting back on track. I figure that if I keep telling myself I'm going to do this that I'll be able to Secret it into existence (that's how that works, right?). Since acknowledging my lack of interest in exercising right now, I've started taking long walks. Just around the block, nothing high impact. But something to get me out of my apartment and on my feet. I'm hoping that I'll be able to push myself back into a regular exercise routine sooner rather than later, but I'm not beating myself up about it either. Mostly because I know I'm not giving up.

A few months ago, if I'd encountered something like this, I would have been off exercise for the long haul, completely uninterested in maintaining my healthy eating, but I know I have to do this. So....that's what I'm going to do. 

DAYS 54-62

I have written and rewritten this post so many times over the past week, but seeing as it's now over a week from my last post, I decided it was time to do it. I have a bad habit of shutting down and avoiding problems when I don't want to deal with them. You'd think I'd have learned to be better about it by now, but I'm not. When I started this, I promised full transparency regarding my eating and exercise habits, but I didn't anticipate that it would also force me to be honest with my emotions. But today marks 2 months on this journey, and I knew I had to write something. Anything. So, here it is.

After coming home from an amazing trip in San Fransisco (two days of which I didn't even write about but will summarize by saying I wish I could go back immediately), I was forced to deal with a major life change: the end of my year and a half long relationship with my live in boyfriend. I'm not going to discuss the why or the how because that's not really relevant to anything, and as much as I'd love to air my feelings out through my writing, that's not particularly fair to the other party involved. But what I will admit is how hard it's been.

Our fitness schedules had been synched up, and to realize that it might not be the best idea to continue going to the gym together gave me an excuse not to stick to my exercise plan. On Monday I did a medium intensity cardio session on the stationary bike in my apartment complex gym (aka, three machines in the basement). On Tuesday it rained and I gave myself the day off. Wednesday I forced myself to do the hike I'd originally planned for the day before, and after being bed bound with food poisoning on Thursday, I allowed myself to take the rest of the week off.

Deep inside, I knew my excuses weren't super valid. On Tuesday instead of my hike I could have easily gone to the gym instead. And instead of hanging out at home like a lump on a log or trying to distract myself, I could have put my frustration and energy into my work outs. But I didn't. Instead, I hid. This was also made more difficult by a slight change in my work schedule. While I was in San Fransisco, the woman I was working for underwent some medical emergency and told me she needed to hire an RN for full time care, only to come back four days later and ask if I could work full time again. I had resigned myself to the fact that it was a sign, and maybe I was meant to focus on my health this summer right before she asked for me back, and it felt a bit like whiplash. With my emotions already all over the place, I wished for consistency, so I said yes to full time again. But now I'm having my original doubts all over again. Will I have enough time to exercise? What about food prep?

I will say that I have remained on my food plan this week. With one notable exception. I was actually pretty proud of myself. I stayed within my calorie count, I didn't overindulge in sad breakup food. The most I did was to order Thai food on Wednesday night (not even an unhealthy curry or noodle dish...), and of course was struck down by food poisoning for all of Thursday.

On Friday I finally forced myself to get out of the apartment. After four days of sitting at home and sulking, I was ready to see the light of day. But as soon as I was out, I found myself plagued by anxiety. Then the though of returning home doubled that anxiety. The truth is, my motivation has had to take a backseat to some bigger things this week. It's been rough. I haven't weighed myself, I haven't come up with a new exercise plan. Nothing. I should have been so excited this week, coming up on the second month of this journey, but I had other things on my mind. Things like finding a new apartment, looking for a roommate, finding alternative ways to make money, and figuring out how to share my living space with my ex until we can find other places to stay. Big things.

I know it sounded like I've fallen off the train, but I haven't. I swear I haven't fallen off of the train. I'm merely waiting at the platform, hoping to catch the next one (terrible metaphor but I'm running low on brain capacity). Because my health is so important to me, and I don't want this journey to take a back seat. It can't. I just have to figure out how to make the brain space for all of it. And I know I can.

As always, let's keep doing this.

DAY 53: SAN FRANCISCO

What is it about being in a new place that just makes you want to try every restaurant you pass by? I know that some of it has to be the fear of missing out on something you may not try again, but it almost feels like a compulsion, a need to try new foods.

Yesterday was a lot about food. And since it was a lot about food, we decided to also make it a lot about exercise. Walking, to be specific. We set our sights on two different parks to enjoy, with restaurants in between. We started off at a local cafe so V could finish her work in the morning. I enjoyed scrambled eggs (with yolks!) and a bowl of fruit. Sadly, the toast got kicked to the curb, which was totally fine.

Energized and work finished, we headed to our first destination - Golden Gate Park, which is over a thousand acres of sprawling wildlife, gardens, and museums (to put it in perspective it's about 20% larger than Central Park). We went with no real plan, other than to stop at a local Burmese restaurant for lunch on the north side of the park. V had been told we HAD to have it, so we made it a priority. The park was gorgeous.

As we walked, V asked me about my fitness journey so far. We talked quite a bit, but I was stuck on one of her questions as we continued on: How long was I going to keep blogging? I thought about it. I wasn't really sure. A year? Until I hit my goal weight? She pointed out that I didn't have a goal weight, and I laughed. She was right, yes. No true goal weight had been set. But I went into this having gained 100 lbs, and I think somewhere in the back of my mind that's where I imagined myself going. Did I think I was actually going to lose 100 lbs? I honestly didn't know. I could lose 70 lbs and decide that I'm fine. With the muscle I'm building from all my weight training, the actual composition of my body is changing so drastically, I'm not sure what it'll look like or feel like when those extra fatty pounds are gone. I admitted that I felt I'd just know when it was time to stop. She agreed.

Somewhere in our rambling, V decided that we should walk to the beach on the far side of the park. She had come all the way from NYC and wanted to dip her toe into the Pacific! I figured why not? Except half way there we realized it was about a seven mile walk through the park to the beach. But, we were already committed, and so we did it. 

Our impromptu beach visit had delayed us a little bit, though, and by the time we headed back towards the restaurant, it was already 4:30. The restaurant opened at 5, so we hung out in the car and listened to some music before preparing ourselves for the life changing Tea Leaf Salad we'd been recommended. I wish I had a picture of it because it was so beautiful, but we were so hungry by the time we sat down to eat that I totally forgot about it. It was delicious though. An array of textures came together for one perfect bite - peanuts, toasted garlic, sesame seeds, jalapeños, romaine, tomatoes, and topped with fermented tea leaves. It sounds crazy, but it was definitely worth the stop. We also decided to get some Burmese style vegetable curry and some coconut chicken noodles. We were in and out of there in about 40 minutes, and we were both totally stuffed.

After, we contemplated heading home and getting ready for our evening (even though we didn't know what that would entail), but we had made plans to go see the redwoods at Muir Woods, and we wanted to follow through. I'm incredibly grateful that we did. It was as if we were able to wander around an enchanted forrest, filled with magical beings lurking in the hollows of the gigantic trees.

I never wanted to leave. But sadly I'd forgotten my sweater at home, and my arms were starting to freeze off. We headed back home, enjoying driving through the thick fog. It added to our magical day.

By the time we got home, though, we were WIPED. I mean...we'd walked a bajillion miles and had started our day pretty damn early. So, instead of making a big deal about dinner (plus, it was like 9:30 anyway), we grabbed some tacos as a local recommended taqueria (we're staying in the Mission, and that is THE thing). 

At the end of the night, I was curious to see how many steps we'd actually walked and was not shocked to see a giant number staring back at me.

I'm so glad I've been able to utilize the city for my fitness needs. Regardless of not stepping into a gym since Wednesday, I don't feel like I've compromised any of my goals. I've been able to enjoy the food I want to try without indulging too much, plus I've maintained my activity level throughout. Halfway through my SF trip, and I think I can already say it's been a success. Being in LA, I don't have the opportunity to walk around this much, so I'm excited for two more days in SF. Come on, y'all. Let's keep doing this.

DAY 52: SAN FRANCISCO BOUND

A few months ago, my best friend and I realized we hadn't seen each other in a year and a half - at our friend's wedding, for one night. These are the hazards of moving across the country, I guess. Our friendships, even the one we hold dearest, start to become just a few texts and calls and likes on Instagram photos. So, when she told me she was going to be up in San Francisco for business for a few days in June, I told her I'd be there. At the time, I had no idea where my life was headed. I had no clue the new trajectory my whole being would be struggling with, and it didn't really hit me until I left yesterday that this trip probably wasn't what either of us had originally pictured. That didn't mean that we weren't going to enjoy every second, though.

Me and V reunited. Second time in two months!

After learning how to road trip pretty early on in this journey (what was Santa Cruz...Day 2?), I prepared myself for the six hour drive up north with plenty of healthy snacks (apples, strawberries, almonds), grabbed my favorite Starbucks treat (Skinny Hazelnut Latte and an egg white spinach wrap) and hit the road. 

It was the first time I've been alone with my thoughts for that long since starting this journey, and it was a little more intense than I originally anticipated. When I get too emotional or things get hard, I reach for a security blanket. I think we all have them - whether it's a good book, a bottle of wine, a casual fling, etc. For me it's music. Those who met me after college might not even know how important music is to me, to my healing process. But my life dream used to be a different kind of writer - of the singer/songwriter variety. 

At age 11, my dad took me to a recording studio to lay down one of my songs (a lullaby I'd written for my baby cousins). Growing up in a music industry family, I was discouraged from pursuing a career in music from day 1. After recording my song, the sound technician told me how impressed he was with me. He couldn't believe I was only 11. He asked if I had other songs, and I showed him a notebook filled with lyrics. He asked if I wanted to record anything else, but my dad shut it down immediately. In the car ride back to our hotel, I was riding high - I mean, what I'd done was pretty freaking cool, for someone of any age, much less 11. I asked my dad if we could listen to the CD in the car, and he obliged. I was SO proud of myself. That was MY SONG. And as it played through the car speakers I could almost believe I was listening to myself on the radio. My high crashed quickly after my dad chimed in. "It's great, Charlotte. You have a really pretty voice. But...in order to make it in the industry you have to have a pretty face AND a pretty voice." I was devastated, but internally I agreed with him. Britney Spears had just released her first album (at 17), and I certainly didn't look like her. It was the age of the pretty blonde pop star, and I couldn't shoehorn myself into that category as much as I wanted to. At 11, I absorbed this information and took it as the truth because I had to. Not to mention it was compounded by another decade of my dad telling me - "You'd be so pretty if you just lost a little weight." 

And though I cut my dad out of my life two years ago, sometimes his voice creeps into my head. On Monday, the day that I "felt pretty," I heard his voice questioning me. And it only got louder during the six hour drive up to San Francisco. So, I put in my latest obsession (Ed Sheeran's X) and drowned out the thoughts with his music. I listened to the album five times, listening to his lyrics and chord progressions, and became profoundly more moved each time around. This was what I missed. This was the kind of music I wanted to write. About being a sap and a nerd and being confused and hurt and in love. I made a resolution: 50 lbs into this thing, I want to get a keyboard and start writing again. Because as therapeutic as writing this quasi-diary has been, I think it'll be even more so to have a soundtrack that goes along with this journey.

By the time I arrived in San Francisco, I was feeling more motivated than I ever had, ready to tackle the next few days with my bestie by my side. After a quick rest (because, man, driving six hours is exhausting any way you cut it), we headed out to dinner to an Asian fusion restaurant. I'd already looked up the menu and knew there were a few salad options that sounded really good, and was not disappointed. Over dinner, we discussed our plan for the next few days. V had just come from Chicago where she'd gorged on not the healthiest foods, so she was game for some healthy days. My fortune agreed.

(or at all)

After finishing our food, we decided that we wanted to walk around the city, mostly to get more steps in (before leaving the airbnb I'd clocked less than 1k steps for the day). We headed to Delores Park and caught up on life. The view was pretty neat. And before we knew it, we were being kicked out of the park (apparently they close, who knew?)

By the time we got home, I'd clocked over 11k steps for the day. Which made me feel pretty good, seeing as I hadn't anticipated working out at all. That's definitely a huge plus to San Francisco, though. The walking. Mostly uphill. Exhausted, I promptly passed out, chord progressions starting to swirl through my head. 

Though the next few days aren't entirely planned out, I look forward to sharing whatever comes up. And making new goals. And writing new songs. Thank you for being part of this adventure. And as always, let's keep doing this.

DAYS 48-51

The past few days have been interesting. Not particularly good interesting or bad interesting one way or another. But, I'm noticing the way I'm changing more and more. 

On Sunday, I realized that I'd been out and about LA with friends for four nights in a row. By the time I came home on Sunday night I thought I'd be exhausted, but I was amped up after spending a great night out with friends. I wanted to watch Game of Thrones and see what everyone on my timeline was already tagging with SPOILER! 

I guess I've always been a fairly social person. I enjoy going out and I love seeing my friends. But since my weight gain, I all but quit my socializing. It seemed like a bigger burden to go out because I knew I'd have to find something to wear and inevitably would get progressively more anxious about being seen in public. This weekend, however, it barely fazed me. I felt, dare I say, normal again. I spent a fairly average amount of time picking an outfit and putting on makeup before heading out of the house. No panic attacks even threatened to bubble up. I was...fine. 

On Monday, I woke up ready to get back to my workout routine and decided I'd give one of the workout DVDs my new boss had loaned me a try. She suggested I start with the Tracy Anderson Method's pregnancy program because it was "slightly easier." Let me just say for the record, if that's slightly easier, I will not be ready for the real Tracy Anderson Method...maybe ever. The DVD was only 30 mins, but it kicked my ass. I was doing things with my muscles that they had never felt before. But oh, did I feel it later that day. 

And as I sat in the backyard, waiting for my new charge to wake up from his nap, I realized how great these changes to my life are. 

I felt serene. Entirely calm (although I guess some of that can be attributed to the baby's napping). 

But honestly, it was the first time I felt comfortable with the amount of change going on in my life. The past few months have been overwhelming. My emotions have been going through extreme highs and extreme lows. I think mostly because change is really pretty terrifying. No one actually likes change. It's unsettling. Going into the great unknown. One change leads to another and sooner or later you look around and don't even recognize your life anymore. But, if someone told me my life was going to be the same in ten years from now I'd be even more petrified. Change is good. It's natural. And it's really fucking exciting. 

Yesterday, as I finished my hour of cardio on the stationary bike, I was excited to find a package of clothes I'd ordered for myself from Modcloth. A few weeks ago I realized I'd returned two dresses last summer and never used my credit. So I got a few tops and a summer dress to supplement my wardrobe. For free (kind of). The clothes were all 2x, and I'd struggled with ordering them. But as soon as I tried them on, I couldn't have been happier. These were clothes that I wanted. That I was excited about. And I was thrilled to have more options every morning in my closet. Because there's nothing worse than having only three things that fit you and realizing all of them are in the hamper right before you have to be somewhere. 

I wore my new shirt with pride to work, loving the way it made me feel. Pretty. 

I can't lie and say that I woke up this morning feeling pretty again. Because I didn't. I woke up exhausted, having set my alarm earlier than usual to finish edits on a writing assignment before heading to the gym. I got grumpy at the gym because John (in his genius way) said I should just take the battery out of his HRM because he wasn't using it and mine still hadn't come. Only to find out the watch was still malfunctioning and I may have to drop another $65 to get a new one. I was annoyed by the June Gloom drizzles as I made my way to work and even more annoyed when the sun came out and I started to sweat under my long sleeves and pants. But that's not really what's important. What's important is that these small moments of clarity and happiness keep poking through. That the little changes I've made are starting to add up into something big. So big that I don't know who I'll be in another ten pounds lost, much less the next ninety of them. 

But I can say that I am excited you are all here for this journey. Somehow it's a little less daunting with you all by my metaphorical side. So, thank you again to everyone for their incredible support. And as always, let's keep doing this. 

DAYS 45-47

The past few days have been strange and unexpected. Having passed through two weeks of staffing and not finding any summer prospects, I'd resigned myself to a summer of working out and writing and form a solid foundation for my routine before I went back to work in August. All of this was thrown out the window, however, when I received a full time position for the summer. I was mid-hike when I got the text, asking me if I could babysit that night. To which I immediately said yes. But after the night of sitting, they sprung the full time offer on me. And I was slightly blind sided.

Though, I knew I wanted to - the family is great, the kid is great, and we'd worked together before, so I felt good about making a summer long commitment - the doubts started to creep in. When was I going to fit in my workout? I'd be working 12 hour days, and taking care of a toddler. Would I be able to maintain my exercise schedule with those kinds of hours? And what about food? Would I have time to prep my meal plan? Would I be more tempted to "cheat?" Anxiety took over. I wasn't ready for this so soon!

I told them I had to think about it, and they were more than happy with that answer, which I appreciated. I was so exhausted from my week of not sleeping, though, that I slept through my alarm the next morning and missed my window of opportunity to go to the gym. So it begins, I groaned to myself as I prepared for another afternoon of work.

But what I didn't anticipate was how helpful and accommodating the family would be. As soon as I told the mother my anxieties, she completely understood. She was so impressed by my motivation and desire to keep pushing forward toward my goals that she said she would do anything to make it work for me. Exercise could be shoehorned into the day while the toddler napped, she told me as she waxed on about the gloriousness of fitness DVDs. She even gave me a few to take home that night, to try out and see if I liked them. Or, I could take the toddler hiking with me, she suggested. Their home is close to several hikes and the entire neighborhood is uphill. As for food, she said I was welcome to take anything from their fridge. They actually use an at home food delivery service, which is farm to table and can be altered in order to fit my fitness needs. I was overwhelmed. I couldn't even begin to describe my gratitude for her support. Suddenly, the idea of going back to work seemed less daunting. 

Plus, going home and looking at my step count for the day, I realized that my activity level was automatically going to go up in trying to take care of a toddler, who wanted to run around all day. 

I woke up this morning feeling incredibly motivated, and ready to tackle the next leg of my fitness journey. And this only made it that much better. Finally getting into the 240s on the scale.

At first I was a little bummed out, I'm not going to lie. I had been home for three weeks and only lost two pounds. But also...finally seeing below 250 was pretty amazing. And I need to remember that this is an accumulation of pounds lost. Not a sprint. Plus, it meant that I could get myself a 10lb reward for myself. It popped out at the gym today. Something I've desperately wanted for my hikes - an arm band for my phone! And it's pink, because that's how I roll. I also finally bought Ed Sheeren's album for myself, which totally got me pumped during my cardio on the stationary bike. 

 And though, no, it's not what I thought this summer would be, I'm excited to see what it will bring. Even if it means figuring out a new fitness schedule and a new meal plan, I know I am committed to myself and my health goals no matter what. As always, let's keep doing this!

DAYS 39-44

It's almost been a full week since my last entry, and I finally forced myself to sit down and think about why that was. After making such a promise to myself to keep up with my feelings, I walled up and shut down and bailed.

For those of you closest to me, you know this is how I handle being overwhelmed. In the past six days, three of them were partaking in large group activities and the other three were focusing on a writing deadline.

The first group activity was a game night at a friend's house. I was already feeling down on myself because I'd had my blood drawn in the morning and had been unable to finish out my second week of five workouts. I knew that getting four workouts in wasn't bad by any means, but still riding the roller coaster of my belated period, I wasn't feeling 100%. I mustered up all the willpower I could to put on a happy face for the night, but I was immediately assaulted by snacks and drinks. My friend had prepared an amazing looking spread with brie and crackers and brownies and goat cheese strawberry pastries and home made pizza and lots and lots of wine. I knew I had to stay away from the food, but I had allotted calories for two glasses of wine for the night. But when the room started to fill up, and I was presented with a large group of people I didn't know, I broke. Food has always been a comfort to me, and with my nerves skyrocketing and not wanting to talk to new people, I broke away from the circle to grab a few snacks. By the end of the night, I was racked with guilt. I had wanted to stay on target, but I didn't.

The next day I was forced into a similar situation. To go to a picnic with an even larger group of people I barely knew. My friend and her boyfriend host a potluck picnic in the park during the summer for all their groups of friends, and though I knew a handful of people, the majority were strangers. Luckily, my raging guilt from the night before had forced me to bring a mixed green salad to the potluck and bring my own prepared lunch in a cooler, so as not to be tempted by anything there. It worked, thank god. But as my friend approached me and told me how much she loved reading my blog, how much it motivated her to exercise and eat right, the wave of guilt returned. With the schedule I'd created for myself, I was supposed to rest during the weekends, but I felt guilty knowing that I'd tacked on an extra day of rest. I didn't have the courage to weigh myself.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I was up tossing and turning until nearly 6:30 in the morning. I heard people leaving their apartments, walking their dogs, and getting up for the day, all before I was able to fall asleep myself. Something was nagging at the back of my brain, keeping my brain spiraling with worry. When I woke up Sunday (mid-day), John suggested I do something nice for myself. Brunch out? I agreed, ready to refocus my mindset on one off positivity. But when we arrived at the restaurant, I realized this would be my first time eating out since getting back to LA. I hadn't looked at the menu to prepare options, like my sister recommended, and I felt out of my depth. Luckily, I was able to find something relatively quickly on the menu (egg white frittata with garden vegetables and feta with a side of fruit) and relaxed a tiny bit. I enjoyed the sunshine and my delicious food, and when we got home, I settled in to write for the rest of the day.

I couldn't sleep again that night.

I had planned to wake up Monday morning, fresh and ready to conquer my leg day at the gym, but instead I slept through my alarm, waking only in time to make it to a writing date I'd scheduled a few days earlier. The writing was cut short, though, by plans to attend my friend's Memorial Day BBQ. Not wanting to deal with any sort of guilt, I brought watermelon to the party and snacked on fruits and veggies the whole day. And pickles. So many pickles.

I left the party realizing that during my busy holiday weekend, I hadn't worked out once and was now four days out of the game. I wanted to cry. How could I have done this to myself again? I reminded myself as kindly as I could that I had a very pressing writing deadline that needed to be attended to, and I prioritized that above all else. But I knew in reality I should have made time.

Yesterday, after banging out my morning hike with Rory (which was considerably harder after four days off), I went to the coffee shop and refused to leave until my writing was finished. I sent my script out for notes, grabbed my grocery list for Week #3 of my meal plan, and headed to Trader Joe's. And that night as I enjoyed my delicious dinner of spiralized summer squash noodles with turkey meatballs and worked on my script revisions, I felt incredibly accomplished.

Rory, killing our hike.

Today I think I truly figured out what has been bothering me, and it's going to sound really dumb, guys. Last week, during my hike on Thursday, my Polar FT4 Heart Rate Monitor ran out of battery, and I've been feeling totally off since. I've learned that I'm way more motivated when I can see the number of calories I'm taking in (and logging them in MyFitnessPal) and compare it to what I've burned on my watch. You'd think by now, a month and a half into this journey, I'd be okay not knowing how many calories I'm burning in each work out. It's the same work out each time, why the hell do I care? And the answer is...I don't know. But I do.

As I left the gym today, feeling broken down from my leg day, I wished I could see the number on my little pink watch telling me it was a job well done.

Do I see a difference in my body (especially given the ridiculous amount of selfies I take)? Yes, of course I do. Even in this horrible picture I see my face and arms thinning. But there was something extra motivating about seeing that calories burned number climb during my workouts. I'm waiting for the battery to come in, and I'm not going to lie - I expect another shitty night's sleep until it's back up and working. But until then, I know I'm going to push myself harder every day. This journey is still in its beginning phases, and I have a lot longer to go. I'm inevitably going to get frustrated and not always be able to work out and write every day. But I'm going to keep at it for as long as I can. As always, let's keep doing this.

DAYS 36-38

After Monday's affirmations, I expected the week to get magically better. The problem was, my mindset had been compromised for the first time since starting my journey, and it took a full three days to try and work my way out of it.

Sometimes a week just doesn't go well. And I guess this is where I complain about it.

Tuesday I was supposed to hike in the morning with Caiti again, but I couldn't pull myself out of bed. I was waylaid by intense stomach cramps (but weirdly no period), which luckily dissipated later in the afternoon. Fortunately, I was still able to force myself to get out of the house and go on a hike, but it was with great effort. After coming back from my hike I realized, to my dismay, that I had one dinner left of my pre-cooked meals, and I desperately needed to go grocery shopping. I knew I'd have to go to the grocery, but I was too tired to deal with a trip that night. I'd go in the morning.

Yesterday, I woke up and again didn't want to work out. I stole a piece of toast and two eggs from John before I resigned myself to figure out my finances and go to the grocery store as soon as possible. The problem is that even with a mapped out meal plan, eating healthfully is fairly expensive. There's a reason obesity is such a problem, and it's because healthy food is expensive. My sister has helped me figure out less expensive alternatives (cooking meals that last for 4 days, swapping fresh veggies for frozen ones, etc), but still...one week on my meal plan is about $100.

Compare that to this video of this guy who ate everything on the Whitecastle menu. For a whole $60.

The video came up on my Facebook feed, and even though I couldn't bring myself to watch the entire video, I did happen to skip to the ending. His tally. $60 for about 10k calories. That's enough junk food to feed one person for a full week, based on intake. Nearly half of what I'm spending. 

Not only is the price insanely low, but fast food advertisements are everywhere. In fact, even my iTunes radio (my soundtrack for the gym) has now been invaded by commercials for Rold Gold Pretzels and Famous Amos Cookies. I turn on my TV and am assaulted by advertisements for cheap fast food, and I remember how easy it was to pick that crap up. It's much harder to plan and shop and cook. And though I'm no longer tempted, I am annoyed. Annoyed that I can't go anywhere without this junk being put in my face. Whether it's billboards along the street as I walk to my hike, or catching up on the latest episode of The Bachelorette, or passing numerous chains as I drive to the gym, cheap fast food is far more prevalent than nutritious food - and I live in LA around the corner from two farmers markets!

Needless to say, I'm SO happy that I'm eating healthfully. I was actually gleeful as I unloaded my haul of groceries yesterday. I smiled as lean proteins and veggies and whole grains spread across my counter. But it was a frustrating point of my day. 

Yesterday continued to frustrate when I looked down at my heart rate monitor during my workout and realized that it had died. Though I know I can easily replace the battery, I have become somewhat reliant on my HRM, and I was incredibly disappointed when I couldn't enter my calories burned into my fitness app. Estimating or not counting them at all felt way less satisfying.

Last night I went to bed disappointed and frustrated, but I resolved myself to wake up this morning and push forward. Who cared that things were annoying me this week? People get annoyed all the time! It was at that moment that I looked at my calendar and realized my period was 10 days late, despite the cramping I was feeling. And that might have something to do with my intense irritability. I pushed the thought aside until I met up for real with Caiti this morning for my Thursday hike. I confided in her that I was extremely nervous, that my body felt out of whack, and I was a little stressed.

Caiti, being an athlete herself, talked me down immediately. She assured me that with my massive burst in activity and decreased intake, there was a really good chance I'd changed my menstrual cycle, and there was no reason to freak out. I scoffed at the idea (even though my mom had said the same thing the day before). Wasn't losing your period a thing that athletes did because they were under a certain body fat percentage? At 250 lbs, I highly doubted I would be affected similarly. But, regardless, I felt better. Plus, we had a super cute dog with us.

Knowing internally (despite my lack of HRM) I'd burned 1k calories and filled with positive thoughts from Caiti, I headed back inside to make lunch for myself. Second lunch on the meal plan! Chicken Caesar salad with homemade greek yogurt based dressing. It came out amazing.

But as soon as I'd taken a few bites, I was attacked by cramps again. There was no questioning this feeling. I knew without a doubt I'd finally gotten my period. Thank god I'd been able to work out in the morning, because at the rate my cramps were coming, there was no way I'd have been able to move this afternoon. In fact, the whole day was spent in bed, cursing being a woman. Just kidding. Kind of. 

That said, it's clear that through this whole process I am having to learn my body all over again. My moods, my rhythm, my mindset have all changed so drastically in such a short amount of time, and I'm just beginning to figure out what feels best for me. I am becoming a different person, a more motivated and determined person, and even though that person is different than the one I was just a few months ago, I think I like this one even better. Yes, I had a bad week, but what are a few days of discomfort while I relearn myself compared to a lifetime of being comfortable in my own body? 

Let's keep doing this, people. 

DAYS 34 & 35

Warning: If you are triggered by mentions of sexual assault or rape, this entry is not for you.

Just over six years ago, I was raped.  On a day to day basis, it's not something I deal with anymore. And recently, my days have been more about which foods I have to prepare and what workout I've been able to complete, than anything else. In other words, my brain has been so busy thinking about other things and reprioritizing my day, that there hasn't been any time for much else to creep back in.

Last night, however, I was forced to deal with it. The final scene of Sunday's Game of Thrones showed a pretty graphic and unnecessary rape of one of the leading women. I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't really prepared. I focused on my phone instead of the TV, staring at the little game of Solitaire, and trying to block out sounds of aggressive grunting and pained screaming in the background. Luckily, I had two more shows to watch before heading to bed, but when it came time to turn off the light, my brain couldn't stop circling.

I woke up this morning feeling sluggish and easily annoyed. While last week, I'd been so excited for my Monday work out that I jumped out of bed and headed to the gym before my alarm even went off, today it took two hours of John's coaxing and an extra cup of coffee to get me there. I told myself to get over it. That I was fine, and to just do my workout the best that I could.

Apparently I took that direction to heart, because I don't think I've ever worked out as hard as I did this morning. I hopped on the elliptical for my warm up, turned on my angriest playlist and pushed myself as far as I could. And it didn't stop there. I attacked my leg circuit, pushing myself an extra two or three reps, until my muscles were shaking.

Four years ago, when I first started going to sexual assault therapist, she recommended that I exercise as part of my routine. The only gym I felt comfortable going to, however, was the 24 Hour Fitness in the middle of boystown West Hollywood. I worked out fearlessly there, knowing that the boys were more interested in checking each other out than me, and I could slip through my routine without anyone noticing I was even there. I'd avert my eyes if anyone tried to make eye contact with me and would happily give up a machine just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone else in the gym. In other words, it was perfect.

Back at that same gym today, I was ferocious. I staked out a corner of the weight lifting room for my circuit, marking my space with my towel and water bottle and practically growling at anyone who came too close. Today, I was angry. Angry that even after six years, one fictional rape scene was enough to make me feel like my body was under attack. That even though I've worked at it and healed as much as I could, somewhere deep down I still believe my body is not allowed to take up space. That it's not my body. It's everyone's body.

My anger came to a head today when an approaching guy asked if I was still using the incline bench (even though there were two more in the near vicinity). "Yup!" I said, continuing with my workout (almost an hour strong!). Feeling slighted, he put up his hands and backed away with an, "Okay, Bambi." It took me a full 30 seconds to realize that I was wearing a shirt I'd bought at Disneyland many years ago that had Bambi on it, and another 30 seconds for my spirit to break. I felt betrayed by the gym that had kept me safe for so many years.

Tears mixed with sweat as I hopped back onto the elliptical to wind down for the day. I put on the pop station on my iTunes radio, trying to perk back up, but I couldn't . There was something so innately sexist and frustrating about the way I had been addressed. "Bambi." Really? I would never have approached a stranger and said anything like that. I just couldn't believe that even while being unafraid, in the zone, and doing exactly what everyone else was doing, this stranger felt the need to talk down to me. Maybe he thought he was being cute or clever. Maybe he does it to men as well as women. I don't know. But I do know that it made me feel small and belittled, despite leaving the gym with nearly 1000 calories burned.

After getting home and showering, I contemplated calling it a day. Just crawling into bed, deciding the world is too scary a place for me, and going back to sleep. But part of this journey is healing and taking control of my body. And so...I forced myself to put on makeup, real clothes, and shoes, and head out to a coffee shop to get some things done. 

I know no matter what society, experiences, or media tries to tell me, I can be the master of my own body. And that giving strength to my own voice is a positive thing, no matter who feels slighted as I do it. Because...as I say each time....I'm going to keep doing this.

DAYS 32 & 33

There's a lot to be said for "feeling pretty." It's something that can make or break your day, and I've fallen victim to ruining my plans because I don't feel that way.

So, when my friend Alissa suggested we go to an event she was invited to last night and pre-game with Dry Bar blow outs to "feel pretty," I was game. After getting in five work outs and sticking to my meal plan this week, I was excited to go out for the first time in a very long time. She forwarded me the invitation, and I cringed. "Attire: Cocktail/club." What the hell did that mean? I scoured my closet, desperately searching for anything that would be appropriate. Anything I thought that could be remotely appropriate ended up on a pile on my bed, and I was not surprised to see that everything in there was black.

A black knit shift, a flowy (well, it had been flowy the last time I put it on) black tunic, a summery cotton black dress, and a black dress with pleather side panels that I'd gotten for my birthday a year and a half ago when I'd put on my first 50. I knew that dress sounded the most appropriate, but I wasn't sure if it was going to fit. I'd last worn it to a friend's birthday last summer, in the middle of my second 50 lb gain. I knew I'd only lost 10 lbs, but I thought...maybe it would fit? If it fit me at 225, why not at 250? I packed all the options in my bag and hoped for the best, but resolved not to think about it during my hair appointment. After all, I was about to get pretty!

I tuned out the world for an hour and luxuriated in the modern but elegant atmosphere of the Dry Bar. Only pausing to snap this pic.

When it was done, I felt like a model. True to Alissa's word, I "felt pretty." But I quickly realized that it was approaching dinner time, and I'd forgotten to bring anything with me! Luckily, Alissa is one of my most amazing supporters, and she was happy to make a quick grocery run to pick up a healthy dinner for us. We decided on splitting a rotisserie chicken and steaming a side of broccoli (my favorite vegetable). Quick and delicious (even having only breast meat with skin removed I was a very happy camper!). 

What I realized shortly after consuming my dinner is that I had eaten a little too fast and felt a little bloated. And now I had to figure out what to wear to this event! I showed Alissa all the options, and she agreed with my initial instinct - the dress with the leather panels was the winner. But after zipping it up, I wanted to cry. The dress fit - as in, it zipped up with little effort. But because of the stretchy fabric, I felt like I was being squeezed into a sausage casing. I could see every roll of my stomach, and I felt a hot rush off panic sweep over me. "I can't wear this!" I squeaked. Alissa assured me it looked fine, but I couldn't stop looking at my sides in the mirror. I took of the dress as quickly as I could, and felt relieved when I could breathe again. I knew had I spent one more second looking in the mirror at me in that dress, I would have gone into a bad head space and asked if we could stay home and wallow instead. 

Luckily, I knew without a doubt that my black knit dress fit me, and put it on instead. It wasn't quite as fancy looking as the previous one, but I felt like I could breathe in it, and that was the only important thing to me. I compensated for the less fancy dress with fancier makeup, and within minutes, I felt ready to take on the town. 

"The town" as it was, turned out to be a graduation party for former The Hills star Spencer Pratt, hosted by his wife, Heidi (who I later learned had invited Alissa personally, and was maybe the sweetest person I've ever met). It was pretty surreal, as the party was fairly intimate, and I only partially felt like I was intruding. Though, Heidi and Spencer were thrilled to hear about me being a USC alum, and I weirdly teared up when the USC marching band made a guest appearance and played the fight song halfway through the night. Feeling good, I enjoyed a glass of white wine as we mingled. And didn't feel tempted at all by the large food spread at the side of the room, or by the waiters who were offering appetizers through the evening. 

By the time we got home, I'd forgotten all about the problems getting dressed I'd had, and really just enjoyed being with my friend. And because we're adorable, we documented it. 

This morning I woke up, excited to weigh myself. Saturday weigh day! I couldn't wait to step on and finally see that 10 lb goal accomplished. To my shock and horror, though, when I stepped on the scale, it read 253. That couldn't be right. I stepped off and stepped back on. The screen flashed 253 again. I nearly broke down. How could I have GAINED weight since last week? I'd worked out more than ever, followed my new meal plan to a T! I'd had a 1000 calorie deficit a day, meaning I should have LOST 2 lbs, not gained them.

I sat in confusion and horror, and lay down in bed, losing motivation and wallowing for about an hour before I realized I was being an idiot. I needed to accept a few things. First, t was a different scale than I'd been weighting myself on. Not only that but I was about two days away from getting my period again. It was extremely likely that my body was holding onto water weight, and that's where those extra pounds were coming from. Also, after a week of weight training, it was extremely possible that I'd gained two pounds of muscle. 

Am I still upset about the number I saw? Yes. I'm not going to lie. I'm disappointed that I didn't see the weight I wanted to on that scale. Especially after working so hard this week. But it wasn't enough to ruin my day. 

Mostly, because one of my best high school friends was coming up to LA to visit and go to an outdoor screening of Pitch Perfect with me. Usually for an outdoor screening, I'd pack a picnic of meats and cheeses and crackers and wine, or rely on the food trucks at the location, but tonight I knew I needed to plan and eat better. So, I made a quick trip to the grocery and stocked up on low sodium turkey, cucumber slices, light string cheese, almonds, and grapes. My snack smorgasbord was a winner, and I didn't feel guilty eating a larger portion of the foods I'd brought with me. 

Though I'm still feeling insecure about my weight, I'm conscious of the positive path that I'm on. It's a healthy one, and it's a happy one. And I need to reconcile the fact that the number on the scale is going to move slowly, and it might move up and down. And while two pounds feels like the end of the world right now. Eventually, when my weight fluctuates according to water retention it will be like nothing. In fact, I'm hoping that when I get to my goal weight, I won't feel the need to weigh myself at all. That I'll be so in tune with my body that the number on the scale will lack any sort of importance.

The truth, though, is that I'm not there yet. It upsets me to not see the number lowering the way I want it or expect it to. And it sucks that even though I know I'm doing all the right things, the scale is going to fluctuate depending on what time of month I'm dealing with. That said, I'm learning how to talk to myself down and stay focused, as opposed to throwing in the towel and giving up. Because no matter what the scale says, I know I'm on track. 

Today I read a quote (that I believe Bill Gates said?). "Most people overestimate what they can do in a day. And underestimate what they can do in a lifetime." And it's true. The scale isn't magically going to jump down tomorrow. But the longer I stay focused, the more it's going to accumulate and add up to the loss I want. Either way, I know I'm not deterred. And I'm going to keep on doing this. 

DAYS 30 & 31

Yesterday was a typical day. Woke up, went to the gym, went about my errands, ate my meal plan meals, etc. But today I woke up and realized it had been a month since I started keeping this journal.

A whole month.

I didn't have time to think about it, though, because I could see ominous clouds in the distance, threatening rain at any moment, and I had a morning hike to attend to first!  Despite being accompanied by John and my friend Caiti, I was extremely slow in my ascent. My new work out in the gym has made my legs sore as all hell, and that blister on my heel (the one that looked like a sinkhole and thought would give me sepsis) made my foot twinge with each step. I'm sure my hike suffered because of the way I had to put my foot down with each step, trying to avoid hurting the blister more. Luckily, we made it to the top in relatively good time, and managed to get back home before the rain started. Also, this motivational sign made an appearance on my street and got me thinking a bit.

Inspired, I decided to make my lunch and get to work on my writing for the day. But as I attempted to draft my latest spec script, something felt OFF. I couldn't pin point it. Maybe it was the lack of sunshine, or that I'd wanted to explore a new coffee shop today but didn't want to brave Los Angelinos attempting to drive in the rain (seriously, 99% have NO idea that the road gets slippery). I just couldn't make the words flow. I was about to throw up my hands and call it a day when I realized that I knew why I was feeling so weird. 1 month meant I had to take a progress picture, and I really really really didn't want to. But, going in , I made a promise to myself that I would take monthly progress pictures, and so I wanted to adhere to that. So, I did. I even got a little brave and took a picture of my side view as well as from behind. 

This is me, ten pounds lighter than last month.

I look at the picture, and I honestly can't see a difference. In fact, I feel like my back looks heavier than one month ago. So then i got to thinking. Where did that weight disappear to, if I can't see a visible difference? Well, then something magical happened. I talked myself out of feeling crappy about not being able to see a difference and just moved forward with my life. I even decided to treat myself to a glass of champagne to toast myself for sticking with this for a month, hitting my goal, and being ready to conquer the future. When the cashier asked for my ID at the checkout line, I even giggled gleefully - loving that even approaching 30, the cashier needed to make sure I was 21. But what she said next nearly knocked me out. "Girl!" she exclaimed, bringing me out of my giddy trance. "You've lost a LOT of weight! You look good." I took my ID back from her and realized that the photo on the ID had been taken this past November (the peak of my weight gain), and this woman could tell based on that photo and my current face that I had lost weight. I was stunned. Here I was, merely hours before thinking that I looked no different, but I was wrong.

After thanking her profusely, I headed home to make my dinner and enjoy a glass of champagne. For my last day of Dinner #1 on my meal plan, I decided to mix things up a little bit. For the last three nights I'd been enjoying bolognese sauce over sauteed mushrooms and zucchinis. But today I was feeling excited and wanted to see if I could create zoodles - or noodles created out of zucchini. For Hannukah, my mom had sent me a spiralizer but I had yet to really use it. I'm not sure why, though. Because it was maybe the best thing I've ever used in my entire life. Within two minutes, I had a bowlful of zoodles. I'd heard that since zucchini contains a lot of water, it's good to let them dry out a bit, so I let them sit on some paper towel for about 15 minutes before throwing them into a sautee pan. About two minutes in the pan, and my zoodles were ready! I topped them with my leftover meatsauce, a sprinkle of cheese, and VOILA. Best. Dinner. Ever.

Pasta has been the one thing that I really truly miss so far. And boy am I glad I found zoodles because they have the same texture as spaghetti. So much so that I genuinely felt like I was eating pasta for the first time in a month! I highly recommend a spiralizer for anyone who wants to try them. It was the easiest dinner I'd made so far. 20 minutes from conception to the plate. And so so satisfying. I'd never been so excited about a vegetable before in my life.

But, I guess that's who I am now. Excited by vegetables, and ready to take on the world. Thank you for taking this journey with me for the past month. Now, bring on the next one!

Let's keep doing this.

DAYS 20 & 21

As I approached the three week mark of my journey, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. I went back into NYC to visit two of my best friends - neither of whom I'd seen in almost two years. 

As I brunched on egg whites and salad with bestie #1, I felt a twinge of congestion and a few sneezes squeak out. Ugh. Allergies. I'd been warned that this was going to be one of the worst allergy seasons ever - something to do with an overpopulation of male trees and a whole lot of pollen with nowhere to go but into my nose. I figured that rather than feeling like crap I should grab some Claritin D and really try to not to tucker out during the time I'd allotted for bestie #2.

Though I was still sniffly, I powered through, walking the floors of Bloomingdales like a champ. It was not until taking the subway to Brooklyn that I realized the congestion was getting worse, not better. I popped back some more Claritin, knowing I needed to rebound immediately. Bestie #2 had a ton of energy as she was training for a race and currently running upwards of 10 miles a day. And she wanted to meet at the Brooklyn Bridge Park where we'd be able to take a long walk. I couldn't Peter out now, allergies! Luckily, the walk through Brooklyn was beautiful, the absolute perfect weather. Plus, it was the time of day just before the sun began to set where everyone was walking their dogs. It made me miss Rory (my own) so terribly that I found myself saying drawn out "hiiii"s to several dogs as I passed them by. I was so into one particular dog that I didn't even notice one of them belonged to one of my favorite actors, Bryan Greenberg (my love for OTH will never die) and his girlfriend Jamie Chung, until I'd passed. It turned out to be okay, though, because as I came upon the park I was greeted with this beautiful view of lower Manhattan. No filter necessary. 

Before I even had time to process, I was being wrapped up into a warm hug, And my mood instantly lifted. As we walked down the path, she informed me all about her running progress and asked me about my journey into healthy living. Having once been packing a few extra pounds (though not quite where I'd let myself go), she offered her two cents. "I'm sure everyone has given you theirs already, she said, "But since I've really gone through it I just wanted to tell you my experience." I told her I wanted all the cents I could find, and she launched in. She told me she'd been keeping up with my blog and instagram and she worried my intake was too low. That when she did the same thing starting out she was inexplicably exhausted and not losing nearly as much as she thought she would. It was only when she added to her intake (healthfully, of course) did she start losing more and having way more energy. I told her I'd thought about the same thing, as most of the health and fitness gurus say the same thing. When you're exercising you need to feed the muscles you're building. More muscle = higher metabolism = more fat burning even while not working out. That contrary to logical thought, eating less while still maintaining my exercise routine would signal to my body to store more of my intake for fear of not getting enough fuel for my workouts. I explained to her my anxiety about raising my calorie limit. That my problems with binge eating were so pervasive I worried about opening that door too quickly. She understood, but then she started crying. (Side note: Can I say a blanket apology to everyone I've made cry? I'm horrified that my behavior has affected so many people. I don't plan on this happening ever again.) 

Anyway, she cried. She said how upset she was about learning my previous weight loss hadn't been earned through healthy means. That she was upset with herself for not seeing through my lies. But I promised her I'd never do that again. It was miserable to feel that kind of guilt associated with food, and it's what led to my cycle of binge eating. She hugged me and we took this picture to commemorate my promise. 

After our emotional conversation, we were in dire need of sustenance. We easily found a healthy restaurant a few blocks away (seriously if you're ever in Brooklyn and want delicious healthy foodNature's Grill is all organic with gluten free, vegan and vegetarian options). I left her for the night feeling energized and loved and ready to conquer the 4th week of my journey! But by the time I was finally sitting on the train back to CT (nearly 12 hours and 16k steps later), I realized my "allergies" weren't any better. In fact, they were about 100 times worse, and were actually a cold. 

I woke the next day completely incapacitated by my sickness. Fever, congestion, soreness and a hacking cough took over my body. I could barely move off the couch and eating was not high up on the list of thigs I wanted to do. Somewhere between my naps and nose blowing, I started to feel a panic rise up in me. 

This wasn't a part of my schedule! I was supposed to spend the morning in the gym doing upper body weight training and my intake was totally off. By 5pm I'd only consumed 350 calories and walked 40 steps. The mean voice in my head returned, telling me I needed to get off the couch, that I was a lazy sod. So when my mom said she was going to go for a walk down by the water I immediately jumped at the chance to join her. 

I pushed through a two mile walk, insisting I was fine and even encouraging us to do more for fear of having an unintentional rest day. Though I could see the worry on my mom's face, I ignored it. Until we got back inside and I was wracked with chills and sweats. After a long shower and hearty dinner of chicken, veggies and brown rice, I reminded myself that I would only prolong my sickness if I continued to push myself like that. That my anxiety can't be what rules my life. I need to take control and tell her to step off, that a rest day is necessary when I'm this sick. And being healthy includes self care and rest. 

Today I'm giving myself the rest day I need and trying not to feel bad about it. I'm taking care of my brain as well as my body by putting on makeup and doing my hair and getting a desperately needed pedicure. I keep reminding myself that two rest days in a row while my body heals is necessary and I can't feel guilty about that. That pushing myself to do anymore will hinder my heath, not help it. Because I have a long ways to go. As always, let's keep doing this. 

DAY 15

I've never really held much stock in the phrase, "There's no place like home." Unlike Dorothy, my friends and family left the small town where we grew up almost as soon as they could. With my sisters in LA and Chicago respectively, and my best friends spread across the nation, I'd never really seen the point in coming back to Connecticut. Though my mom remained, it wasn't like she still lived in my childhood home (neither the first, nor the second), and I'd much rather spend time with her in LA where we had better weather and much more to do.

But after my mom visited LA in March, she begged me to come home. Really, truly begged.
"It'll be like a spa vacation," she said. "You can relax and go to they gym and work on your writing!" Since I was on hiatus, waiting to hear if the show I worked on was going to return for another season (it did, btw--yay Faking It Season 3!), I figured...why not? I knew she was anxious to keep an eye on me; I'd never seen her as worried about me as when she was leaving LA this time (and that's saying something because I'm ashamed to admit I've put that woman through a LOT to be worried about). And as the weeks passed, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd spent any time alone with her. Because of my crazy television work schedule, all our time together had been as a family, and I lacked any one on one time with her. I was excited. And I was not let down.

My mother is not a cook (she was quoted saying she prefers cleaning dishes to cooking tonight), but using the meal plan V and I had come up with a few days before, my first day home turned into a magical delicious feast.

Breakfast (top left): 1/2 cup of steel cut oats cooked in 1 cup of skim milk. 1/2 of a chopped granny smith apple, and 1/8 cup of walnut halves.

Lunch (bottom left): 4 oz. chicken breast, 2 tbs. 0% greek yogurt, a dollop of fresh pico de gallo, on top of 1 cup chopped romaine.

Dinner: 6 oz. filet mignon, with mixed veggies (1 cup of sliced mushrooms, 1/4 cup of red bell peppers, 1/2 cup of green beans) cooked in 1 tbs of olive oil and 2 tbs soy sauce, on top of 1/2 cup brown rice.

I was seriously astounded at how delicious my meals were. Not only that, but since they'd been planned before time, they required about zero thought. And my total intake was only 1390 calories, even before my exercise. The spa vacation sentiment was pretty true. Plus, it felt amazing to be taken care of by my mom. That sounds pretty silly coming from a 27 year old adult, but there's something so intensely gratifying about it. My mom is the first to support my goals and my journey, and a large part of this has been influenced by her, but being with her was suddenly incredibly low pressure. I felt like we could just enjoy being together.

This morning we accomplished my first and most important mission. New sneakers. My brother in law promised I'd tell my mom I needed new sneakers after the bloody foot incident of this past Sunday, so that's where our day began. And it was quite an experience. For the past three days, I've done extensive research on which gym shoes are best for overweight women. Which shoes have the most shock absorption to decrease pressure on joints. Which shoes have the most stability. Which shoes come in fun colors (I'm sorry, but that's important to me!). The most valuable piece of information I learned in my research was to go to a running store and have someone evaluate my gait. It sounded silly to me, but I figured why not? So, I went to the closest running store and took my chances. Let me just say, if anyone ever needs any new sneakers, I cannot recommend this experience more. Not only did the salespeople know everything there is to know about different sneakers, but she first had me stand on a computer scale, which projected an image onto a screen to show me where most of my weight was distributed (my heels), the length and width of both my feet (9M forever despite my weight gain), and if I needed extra arch support (nope, my arches are high as hell). Because of my weight, she picked a few sneaker options that were high in stability and cushioned soles, and I went to town. After finding a pair that felt like I was floating on a cloud or walking on a pillow, she put me on a treadmill to run for 15 seconds. My feet were filmed, and when I got off, she played the video back in slow motion, just to check and make sure my alignment in the sneakers were good (toe lining up with ankle, heel, and knee). They did! And this was the glorious result.

Anxious to try them out, I convinced my mom to do the 3 mile loop around Tod's Point Beach with me. I put on my heart rate monitor, my new shoes, and grabbed my water bottle, ready to enjoy some quiet time with my mom. The view wasn't too shabby either. Plus, I managed to burn 500 calories.

 On our way home, I asked my mom to show me where her gym was. She knew she was going to have to go into work tomorrow, so I wanted to be prepared for my workout without her there to push me. Turns out I probably won't need a push. As soon as we stopped in the gym, I was taken aback by my urge to really break a sweat. My three mile walk had felt more like a warm up than true exercise, and I decided to do a quick weight training session while my mom went upstairs to start on dinner. I grabbed a pair of 15 lb weights and went to town. 4x12 sets of squats to shoulder press, straight leg deadlifts, lateral raises, lateral dips, lateral pull downs, bicep curls--and finishing things off with 100 crunches holding the 10 lb plate above my head. My quick session raised my total calories burned to nearly 1k calories. Far more than I'd originally anticipated.

And though I'm sitting in bed now, soreness starting to creep into my muscles, I feel incredibly accomplished. At no point did I feel like I was being forced into eating something healthy or working out. After two weeks, it's simply part of my routine--something I HAVE to do, just as important as sleeping or showering or watching all my shows!

Something I haven't done yet, however, is weigh myself. It's something I'm still a little scared to do. What if the numbers haven't changed at all? What if they've changed too little? What if I've gained weight (I know that's implausible but my brain works in crazy ways). One of my promises to myself is that I will weigh myself this week. By Sunday, I will have a weigh day, and that will be my new weekly weigh day for this journey. I decided that with each 10 lbs I lose, I'm going to treat myself with something (non-food related, of course). For my final goal, I want to take a weekend trip away somewhere. Santa Barbara or Palm Springs or Vegas? But with my current bank account's state, I need the treats leading up to that final prize to be somewhat economical. If anyone has any suggestions, I need 9 more treats/presents to myself to fill in! Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.